


Silent Situation

by ElizabethWinters



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-05
Packaged: 2018-07-21 19:13:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7400230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizabethWinters/pseuds/ElizabethWinters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick finds himself trapped in a situation that makes him desperately unhappy but which he has no idea how to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Situation

Before Nick is fully awake he hears the children playing outside the bedroom door, the clatter and bustle of a morning routine already begun, voices boisterous and footsteps taken without care of the noise they cause. He knows when he opens his eyes the first glimmer of morning light will be creeping across the ceiling, marching in a line that will gradually reach the wall on the far side of the room and touch it with one brightly lit finger before Miriam comes in and opens the curtains. 

As he listens to the noise recede, moving away downstairs, Nick lies in bed and allows himself a few moments of quiet calmness before the rush of the day comes to carry him on a tide of activity. Then he throws back the covers and steps from the bed, bare feet meeting the fuzzy carpet as he stands and stretches. 

Every morning when he wakes, Nick takes a shower, relishing the hot spray of the water as he lathers and rinses, repeats; letting the water wake him fully and planning the day ahead in his mind before he goes to get dressed in the same neatly pressed suits and ties as he wears every day. 

In the kitchen the children are seated around the dining table, cereal and toast and sometimes something a little more filling arranged on the tabletop. He gets tea and kisses Miriam good morning, smiling as she pulls him into a quick hug. They don't speak much in the morning, their attention focused on getting the children fed and ready to leave for school, where Nick drives them before heading for Westminster. 

  


He says hello to the aide permanently situated outside his office as he enters, smiling at them and wishing them good morning. Inside his office there are papers and reports waiting on his desk, and he settles down to read, requesting more tea as he works, pencilling in notes and changes, points to bring up later when he sees the prime minister – David, though Nick has never quite got used to calling a man once regarded as a rival by his first name instead of his last – things to remember for deputy prime minister's questions. 

Between nine and nine–thirty Nick takes a phone call, sets out his position on a piece of legislation going through parliament, and hangs up while scratching yet another meeting in his already full diary. Then he rises and crosses the room to walk through the short corridor that connects his office with that of the prime minister, knocking lightly and sticking his head around the door. 

‘Nick,’ David greets him, beckoning Nick inside with one hand, phone plastered to his ear with the other. Nick waits inside the door until David hangs up, and then moves to sit down, sinking onto the plush upholstered chair that is on the opposite side of David's desk. 

‘How is everything today?’ David asks, taking a mouthful of tea and wrinkling his nose up when he discovers it has gone cold. 

‘Fine, fine,’ Nick assures. 

These meetings are little more than formality, David's way of keeping their working relationship running smoothly; touching base at regular intervals is something David likes to do. Nick doesn't complain, though they are always arranged to meet David's convenience rather than both of theirs. 

‘I see we've been getting most of the flack about the budget,’ David comments. 

Nick watches as David rises and goes to the door, taking his tea and asking one of the aides outside if they can please bring him a fresh cup. When he returns, David sits with his hands resting on the desk in front of him, fingers curled around each other and thumbs pointing to the ceiling, and Nick is momentarily distracted by the sight. He blinks and clears his throat, one hand balled in front of his mouth, eyes slowly travelling from David's fingertips to where his wrist disappears beneath his cuffs. 

His hands. It has always been his hands. Those beautiful long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. The large, flat palms and slender wrists. The way they feel when–– 

Shaking his head, Nick puts the unfinished thought out of his mind. Better to not go there again, best not to think about _that_ at all, really. 

It has only happened twice. 

The first time during the coalition negotiations – and that had been a surprise in itself – and the second time six months ago after some half–frantic tussle thinly disguised as an argument. How they'd kept up _that_ pretence, kept talking while–– 

_Don't think about it_ , Nick tells himself silently, tearing his gaze away from David's hands and forcing it to rest somewhere else, it settles on a point just beyond David's head. _It's not going to happen again._

‘They need something to focus on,’ Nick says, keeping his tone conversational. 

David doesn't appear to notice Nick's previous distraction as he writes something or other on the notepaper in front of him, not looking at Nick at all. Nick licks his lips, stops himself when he notices, the words of countless PR gurus thoroughly condemning the nervous reaction running through his head on a permanent loop. 

‘We didn't give them much, did we?’ David asks, smiling as he looks up again, his blue eyes warm and sincerely pleased. 

‘Not much,’ Nick smiles back. 

The conversation fades as David goes back to writing, and Nick sits uncomfortably silent, waiting for David to either talk or make it clear that Nick can leave and get on with his own work. It comes a few moments later when David's phone rings again. David answers the call, saying hello in an official tone and covering the mouthpiece with his hand. 

‘Do you mind if we pick this up later?’ David asks. 

‘No.’ Nick shakes his head, rising to his feet. 

‘If you–’ David swipes his hand across his chin and looks at Nick intently before finishing the sentence. ‘If you could come by this evening?’ 

‘Yes,’ Nick croaks, throat suddenly dry from the way David is looking at him, half intense and half pleading, as though asking something else without speaking. Nick closes his eyes and doesn't say anything else for a moment; lets the sensation of expectation tingling through his body fade. 

‘Six o'clock,’ David says briskly. 

‘Six,’ Nick nods, walking away, feeling tense; the unspoken promise of something neither of them will mention burning through his limbs and setting his hands to shaking. He stills them with deliberate effort as he grabs the door handle to go back to his own office. 

_It doesn't mean anything_ , he tells himself. _It's over_. 

It's not as though he can take that risk, neither of them can afford it. If anyone ever found out the scandal would blow their lives apart, and for what? Two times in a darkened room with David's mouth on his and their hands making frantic movements against skin that definitely should not be bare. Biting back moans as David–– 

  


Nick reaches his office and leans back against the door once he closes it, breathing heavily and clenching his hands. David hadn't meant anything by his words; it's not going to happen again. 

But Nick wants it to happen, has spent the last six months barely getting through every meeting, every moment of being alone with David, the need and uncertainty winding and winding and winding inside him, stretching his patience with himself and, more than a few times, with David. 

How can they not talk about it? 

Just pretend it has never happened and everything is normal, an elephant not only in the room but sitting on the desk between them whenever they talk, one giant grey area they carefully avoid venturing into. In the times when they look at each other and the same thought is on both of their minds, Nick can feel the silence stretching, can hear the deafening roar in his head of words that should be spoken, but he always stays silent. Somehow Nick knows that if he forces David to talk then it _will_ never happen again, there will never be another night when he is called to David's office and–– 

Nick eats his lunch sat at his desk, busying himself reading more reports and making notes. He feels tense, but the pressure of work provides little distraction from the skirting thoughts of his meeting with David at six o'clock. Telling himself nothing will happen only makes things worse, and by the time he has finished his sandwich, Nick has set himself on edge once more. 

From one–thirty until three Nick meets with Danny and talks about the other's recent television interviews on the subject of the budget. The press, predictably, have chosen to ignore all of the good Liberal Democrat policies he and Danny managed to get included, instead running stories about the lowering of the topmost tax band and the freezing of the pension allowance. 

Frustrated as he is by the lack of any sort of acknowledgement of their achievements, Nick is grateful it is not his party – and moreover himself – who is the focus of national ire. The furore over the increase to student fees is still fresh in his mind in spite of the time that has passed, and it still stings that the reaction of most had been distinctly personal, as though he himself should shoulder all of the blame when the coalition agreement was passed by the party and not by him alone. 

The meeting, while it lasts, is enough to draw his attention away from contemplation of the evening, but time passes quickly and Nick is soon saying goodbye to Danny, with one last congratulation to his colleague on his deft and admirable response to all of the questions put to him by various journalists and television presenters. 

After Danny leaves, Nick makes four more telephone calls to various departments and people within the party, more discussion of how to continue the distinction between the Liberal Democrats and the Conservatives, between himself and David. In the early days that line had blurred into almost non–existence, more so with himself and David; Nick wonders if what happened during the negotiations is partly to blame. It certainly didn't help at all, the press conference in the Downing Street garden, the pair of them grinning at each other like a couple of lovestruck teenagers, the touches and smiles. 

Yet Nick couldn't help but get so close to David, even with the speculation it caused. Even when it damaged him politically. 

For a long time Nick struggled to separate the unexpected events of the night three days after the election from his thoughts political and personal, unable to resolve for himself the difference between David Cameron, the head of the Conservative party and now prime minister, formal to the extreme, and David Cameron, who had plastered him against a wall in Admiralty House and kissed him. Nick still isn't sure which thing was most surprising, that David had kissed him or that he had kissed back without even trying to protest. 

Their meeting overran. The newspaper articles never came close to guessing the reason why. 

Glancing at the clock, Nick notices it is nearing four–thirty. The afternoon is flying by amidst the usual buzz of activity; aides coming and going, phone calls, conversations and hurried text messages. 

_Get ahold of yourself_ , Nick tells himself as he feels the tumble of uncertain and agitated thoughts creeping around the edges of his consciousness. He is worked up to the point that every second ticking by on the ornate and antique clock feels like a minute, dragging on and on seemingly without end as the day grows ever later; four–forty–five, four–fifty, four–fifty–five, minutes drifting away with stunning rapidity for all they feel like a lifetime. 

At five–thirty–seven, with a feeling somewhere near hard panic setting into his stomach, Nick rushes through a conversation with Tim Farron, excusing himself at ten to six and spending five minutes pacing his office, stopping frequently to stare at the door that leads to David's office. 

What will he find inside? Will David be sat at his desk? 

That is the most likely outcome. In all probability Nick will walk into the room and find David busy with his work. Nick tries not to dwell on all the times this very day has repeated itself over the last six months, the feeling of crushing disappointment when all of his expectation and want came to nothing, when the looks David gave him lead to nothing more than Nick feeling like a fool for letting two nights of something other than talking affect him so drastically. 

  


When the grandfather clock in the corner of his office begins to chime six o'clock, Nick opens his office door. 

His heart hammers in his chest as he gets to David's door and knocks twice with an unsteady hand. He takes a few deep breaths while he waits for an answer, and it is an answer to his questions more than an answer to his knock Nick wants. 

The door opens, revealing David with tie removed and collar hanging open, looking at him without speaking. Nick's eyes are drawn to the curtains, closed, and then back to David's face, the way David is staring at him with a silent question in his eyes. 

‘David–’ Nick begins. 

‘Don't talk,’ David whispers before Nick can get out the rest of his sentence, and Nick is glad for it because he isn't sure what he would say, any question he might ask would be meaningless. He knows why the curtains are drawn, why David is in nothing but shirt and trousers, why David's hand is reaching out to draw him fully inside the office so the door can be closed. 

There's something in the silence, the dead air, void of speech, that rules every single time this has happened. In a way Nick wishes for something other than this, something less secretive, but there is no lack of feeling here, even if it is never spoken. 

David is kissing him before the door has closed, his tongue demanding entry into Nick's mouth, ferociously devouring every inch with a hot determination Nick matches as he slides his hands over David's broad shoulders and meets the urgent movements of David's mouth against his, the physical contact of David's body driving every thought clean from his head. 

Nick doesn't think, can't think and wouldn't if he could, not about the multitude of betrayals, to wife, to family, to party, to himself; they are pushed away into the recesses of his mind, carefully kept out of his conscious thoughts. He might, perhaps, acknowledge them later, but he knows he won't regret this. He'll feel guilty, did both times, but the guilt is never enough to keep him from thinking, from wanting–– 

God, to be here again, to have gained access to this dark, forbidden place, this world of heat and touch and taste. Nick runs his hands over the smooth material of David's shirt, around David's sides and to his back, pulling David forward so their chests are touching. 

Silence reigns here, broken only by the combined noise of roughly taken breaths and sharp, muted sighs as hands set to the removal of enough of each other's clothes. David doesn't speak, doesn't say a word, not one, taking whatever he wants from Nick without asking, and Nick gives without question, without any reservation. 

The days and nights of waiting make Nick impatient, needy and greedy for more of David's skin, more of his mouth and his hands and the long hard line of his body pressing against Nick and holding him wherever David wants him to be. 

Such submission is not really in Nick's nature, not politically, not personally, but here in the dimly lit room that is David's office, Nick never argues with the way David wants this to go, hasn't the strength or the presence of mind to force any other outcome to the encounter; truthfully he doesn't want another outcome, wants only more – and perhaps for David to say his name, if only once, instead of being locked in the almost stifling silence. 

Once Nick has kicked his trousers from his legs, he is pulled over to David's desk, sits on the surface without being asked or guided, pulling his legs up and wrapping them around David to hold him close, wanting the contact even though David is still dressed from the waist down. He fumbles at David's waist, making quick work of belt and buttons, pushing cloth out of the way and taking pleasure in the quick rasps of breath against his ear as he touches, cups and palms without the restrictions of clothing. 

Christ, he wants to talk, tell David what this does to him, how he spends every day when this doesn't happen waiting and wanting and watching for something, some sign David is similarly distracted. Nick has never been good at hiding his feelings, his temperament too hot for such tight control, that's why it's so unusual here, so out of character and sometimes frightening. 

Any fear is swept away as David pushes Nick back to lie on the desk, legs hanging uselessly over the edge when the effort of keeping them up is too strenuous for Nick to manage. Nick bites the back of his hand to keep from moaning as David's fingers tease and circle, press into him with skill that comes from experience, though Nick doesn't like to think from where and soon abandons the line of thought completely as David finds a rhythm. Nick sinks his teeth into his own skin, the raggedness of his breath coursing over his hand and fingers. There will be a mark later, hopefully not too visible and hopefully fading before he gets home. 

Why it bothers Nick that David has obviously done this enough times to know how, to be good enough that Nick wants to scream to the ceiling, Nick doesn't know. It's not as though he himself is a paragon of heterosexuality, though the experience was years ago now, and there is nothing like the suggestion he and David are in any way exclusive – aside from their wives – or this is anything more than–– 

But what _is_ this? 

This infrequent and never really planned liaison in the dark of David's office, never spoken of even when it happens. What could it possibly be and why does Nick want it to be anything at all? 

These thoughts too are driven away, sent into retreat as David swiftly replaces his fingers with the hard length of his cock, and Nick cannot help but give one loud groan, so close to David's name Nick worries for a moment David will stop, even as he yearns for David to answer. 

Neither happens. David stays silent and Nick bites down on his hand again as David begins to move his hips, large hands grabbing at Nick's thighs and hitching his legs up so Nick's knees are tucked under David's armpits. 

Nick shivers at the gentle roughness in David's actions as he thrusts, fingers digging into Nick's hips and face set in concentration. He only wishes David would look at him, but David never does, never watches, always keeps his eyes shut and his mouth firmly closed. They kiss when things first begin, but never during. Biting his lip, Nick lets his head fall back over the edge of the desk, looking toward the wall and the soft glow of sunlight filtering through the curtains, the world outside a million miles away from this world, another time and another universe. 

The leather covering the top of the desk sticks to his skin, catches and holds like glue, keeping him from falling, keeping him here, giving him presence of mind enough to stop from crying out, adding his voice to the quiet, steady creak of the desk he is lying on. The urge to speak builds until it is almost overpowering, words rising in Nick's throat he longs to set free; how good it feels, how he wants more and harder, how he wants more than this. 

One thought repeats itself over and over in Nick's head. 

_Please tell me you're thinking about me._

In the moment he comes, with nothing more than a guttural grunt, Nick feels suddenly as if he will cry, the effort of keeping so quiet pushing him to the very limits of his endurance. David falls across him and Nick grabs for him, pushing his head into the crook of David's neck, pressing kisses there with desperate affection. 

They lie on the desk for long minutes, both remaining silent as their breathing slows. Nick rubs at one eye with his hand, glad for once David isn't looking at him, won't see the tell–tale signs of everything he is feeling as it trickles down the side of his face. 

This is not enough, this silent situation where he can't even kiss David afterwards, where they won't even look at each other as they get dressed, won't kiss goodbye, won't speak a single word to each other until the following day brings its bustle of routine and another meeting to touch base which will be exactly that, while Nick waits for another day when everything he longs for becomes real again. 

Nick breathes, carefully regular, stares at the pattern of the ceiling, forehead creased, and finds the courage for words he knows might ruin everything but can no longer keep to himself. 

‘Are we ever going to talk about this, David?’ Nick asks in a hushed voice. 

‘Don't see any reason why we should,’ David answers, his voice dismissive. Nick sighs, feeling all at once trapped and confused and hurt. Even when David is lying naked on his desk with Nick beneath him he won't admit there is something going on here, and Nick is not at all sure he likes the implications of that, the way it makes him feel used and stupid. 

‘I think we should,’ Nick tries again, fingers tracing uncertain patterns on the skin of David's back as he speaks. 

David doesn't answer; stands and pulls his trousers up, fastening them and collecting his shirt and Nick's clothes from the floor by the door. 

‘If you don't want to any more just say,’ David says as he hands Nick's clothes to him. Nick sits up and pulls his shirt around his shoulders, arms sliding into the sleeves. 

‘It's not that,’ Nick tells him as he begins to button. 

‘What is it then?’ David asks, keeping his back turned as he dons his shirt. 

‘You won't even look at me,’ Nick says with too much honesty and in a voice that betrays too much emotion. David's motions cease for a fraction of a second, but then he reaches for his tie and turns up his collar. 

‘What do you want from me, Nick?’ 

‘I–’ Nick stops, unsure of how to explain, and what does he want anyway? More than this, yes, but how much more and why? He thrusts his legs roughly into his trousers and pulls them to his knees, shuffling off the edge of David's desk and working them up, fastening the buttons and belt in silence. ‘More than this.’ 

‘We can't have more than this,’ David says quietly, his shoulders slumped. Nick wants to approach him, put his arms around David's shoulders and hold him, but before he can David has moved and is putting on his shoes, tying the laces efficiently. 

‘Why?’ Nick asks, helpless to stop himself, the way David is acting getting to him. 

‘Do you really need to ask?’ 

‘Yes I do,’ Nick practically shouts. ‘I need to ask why it is that, that you keep doing this. Why you leave me sat in my office day after day, why I'm always the one waiting for you, and why I even do this at all when it's clear you don't give a damn about me.’ 

He's said too much, he realises as David stiffens and sits up in his chair. 

‘If you don't want to any more,’ David says again, quieter this time. 

Nick leaves his response unsaid and opens the door to go home without looking back, his heart feels heavy. 

When Nick opens his eyes to the sound of the children playing outside the bedroom door he sees the first glimmer of morning light creeping across the ceiling, marching in a line that gradually reaches the wall on the far side of the room and touches it with one brightly lit finger. 

Nick lies in bed and allows himself a few moments of quiet before he throws back the covers and goes to take a shower, the hot spray of the water providing no distraction from his troubling thoughts even as he begins to plan the day ahead in his mind before going to get dressed in the same neatly pressed suits and ties he wears every day. 

In the kitchen he gets tea and kisses Miriam good morning, quickly returning the hug she gives him as he ushers the children out the door to drive them to school before heading for Westminster. 

  


He says hello to the aide permanently situated outside his office as he enters. Inside there are papers and reports waiting on his desk as usual, and he settles down to read, requesting more tea as he works, pencilling in notes and changes, things to remember for deputy prime minister's questions. 

Between nine and nine–thirty Nick takes a phone call, scratching yet another meeting in his already full diary. When the time for his meeting with David rolls around, Nick doesn't even get up from his desk; he can miss it this once, it won't hurt and he doesn't trust himself to keep calm in the face of David's unwavering refusal to acknowledge what has passed between them. 

Nick eats his lunch sat at his desk, keeping himself busy reading more reports and making notes. He feels tense, but the pressure of work provides little distraction from the upsetting thoughts of his meeting with David yesterday and the feeling of despair that is slowly swallowing him. He crosses out another spelling mistake in his notes, frustrated by his constant replaying of last night's events in his mind. 

“ _If you don't want to any more just say.”_

That's not what he wants, not at all, and he feels upset at the thought he has probably ruined everything and left himself with no more chances to feel David in his arms, that David can quite easily slip right back into the professional relationship without giving Nick a second thought, while Nick agonises and yearns for something he can't even name. 

By the time he has finished his sandwich, Nick has made four more mistakes in his notes, crossing through each one with increasing annoyance. 

_Damn it, I wish I'd never––_

The thought never gets finished, Nick cuts it off before he can wish for something so untrue. He's never wanted to erase what he has done, even though some sensible part of his brain says it would probably be better. The cheating has never been the problem, although it damn well should be; the guilt has never been enough to stop him wanting what he does, funny as it is he can live with it. What he can't live with is crying silent tears because he can't speak his mind, can't tell David it means more to him than sex, can't keep his damn heart from beating faster and can't take it that David won't even look at him when they–– 

Can't shake the feeling it isn't really him David wants. 

Damn this silent situation they've gone and got themselves stuck in, some repeating loop where words have somehow got lost. Nick leans his elbows on the desk in front of him, resting both palms against his forehead and willing all of his thoughts away. If he could just get rid of them he'd be free to work and maybe he will make it through the day without spending all of his time correcting stupid mistakes because he can't concentrate. 

Nick is still sitting at his desk trying to chase away his torment when there is a short knock on the door that leads to David's office. He looks up as David opens it, unable to keep his face from showing all of his upset, his tiredness from a night of broken sleep. 

‘You missed our meeting,’ David says. Nick sighs and closes his eyes, resigned to the professional tone of David's voice. 

‘Give me a few minutes,’ Nick requests, letting his head fall back to his hands as he hears the door close. He sighs again, completely and utterly defenceless against the tears building in his eyes, choking back a sob as they begin to fall. 

Back to exactly where he started, with all of the uncertainty and longing, everything is still unsaid and Nick is still caught with all these feelings jostling in his head and making his heart ache. 

‘I do give a damn about you,’ David says, and Nick quickly looks up to see David standing by the closed door with a frown set heavily on his face, wringing his hands together in front of himself. 

‘What?’ 

David steps across the room, dragging Nick to his feet to hold him. 

‘I do give a damn about you,’ David tells him again. ‘I'm sorry if you thought I don't.’ 

‘I never–’ 

‘Yes you did,’ David interrupts. ‘And I don't blame you. I've been acting like a complete idiot.’ 

Nick doesn't say anything, instead he pulls David closer and breathes the scent of him, familiar for the three times he has known it before. David kisses Nick's head and runs his fingers through Nick's hair. 

‘I wasn't sure, I thought if we never spoke about it then– God I couldn't look at you and not tell you how you make me feel, and that's the last thing I thought you wanted. You never–’ David breaks off and clears his throat as his voice becomes rough. ‘It was always me who started it.’ 

‘I would have,’ Nick admits, kissing David's neck. ‘I thought you didn't want–’ 

‘Why wouldn't I?’ David asks. 

‘I don't know.’ 

Moving his head from David's shoulder, Nick looks at him, finds David still frowning, though less so. David reaches up and brushes his hand over Nick's cheek. 

‘Did you cry every time?’ David asks, and Nick knows David isn't talking about the tears drying on his cheeks, the tears he has cried today, but those he cried last night, silently as David lay on top of him. He shakes his head. 

‘Last night– It was too quiet, I wanted to speak to you, to tell you– It's the silence that hurts.’ 

‘If I'd known,’ David whispers, stroking Nick's cheek again. ‘I felt so awful when I realised you were crying. I thought you hadn't wanted me, that–’ 

‘No,’ Nick insists, shaking his head again and kissing David. ‘Don't think that, I never, god I always wanted you.’ 

Whether for emphasis or reassurance, Nick kisses David again, winding one hand into David's hair as David responds, and whether it's because of all the uncertainty David has which Nick has never seen before or because he wants to be the one to start it, Nick moves his other hand to the buckle of David's belt, tugging at it. 

‘Don't,’ David whispers, stilling Nick's hand with his own, moving it so it is back around David's waist again. 

‘What?’ Nick breathes, confused. He looks at David in the silence that follows, bites his lip and, for once, doesn't think of what PR would say if they saw him. David stares back, something different in the way he is holding Nick's gaze, and in the brightness of daylight Nick sees fear and uncertainty in David's eyes for the first time since he has known him. 

‘Kiss me,’ David says, his hushed tone thick with the emotion of an admission not quite made; what he wants but cannot yet say he does. ‘Please, kiss me, I want–’ 

Quickly, Nick stops the words by pressing his mouth to David's, crushing their lips together and inhaling one sharp breath as he hears David make the tiniest sound, low and soft, a sound that tells Nick more than anything David has never said about how he feels. He kisses David, movements hard and fast, urgent until David puts his hands on Nick's face and forces Nick to slow. 

‘David,’ Nick gasps, sinking into the newfound tenderness, long wanted and now a reality, his head beginning to spin. Then, like an answer to every silent wish Nick has ever made–– 

‘Nick.’ 

The word causes Nick to stop kissing, whimpering as his chest shakes under rapid gasps, stomach flopping. 

‘You've no idea,’ David says, holding Nick with arms around his shoulders, ‘how long I've wanted to say that.’ 

‘As long as I've wanted to hear it,’ Nick offers, smiling as David does. 

Leaning his face into another touch of David's hand, Nick lets out a sigh. 

His hands. It has always been his hands. Those beautiful long fingers and perfectly manicured nails. The large, flat palms and slender wrists. The way they feel when they touch him and how he has often imagined they would feel against his face, though before now it has never been a reality. 

As David kisses him again, with another whisper of Nick's name on his lips, Nick thinks of nothing but the sensation of David's mouth on his and the way David's face looks in the bright sunshine of this March afternoon. 

There are more words to be said, thoughts and feelings that need to be talked through, but for now Nick lets the silence rule once more, a different silence now, one not enforced and which can be broken at any time. Somehow, some way, both of them have broken free of the silent situation they were trapped in, stopped the routine of the busy day and found a moment where silence can mean something else entirely. 

And Nick is glad of it. 


End file.
